


The Touch Of Their Lips Was a Shock Not A Kiss

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Community: come_at_once, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because porn.  Why not.  There's a dance club.  There's a bathroom. Yum</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Touch Of Their Lips Was a Shock Not A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Come At Once, If Convenient Pornfest #5  
> Written in 8 hours. Beta'd by the beautiful 221Btls and GeronimoAndBeMagNificent. I'm thankful they love me and porn

Sherlock slammed the blond man through the stall door and into the metal wall, the bathroom’s flimsy partition shuddering with the force. With the driving bass of the club's dance music, no one would hear if things turned ugly.

“What are you playing at?” Sherlock hissed at the man pinned under his fists. “Why are you following me?”

Odd that he man didn’t fight back; he met Sherlock’s stare without blinking, without panic.

“Some posh arse in his posh car kidnapped me. After our _discussion_ ,” the man huffed out a laugh that was more air than sound, “I assumed I had no choice but to do as he said.”

Even as he did it, Sherlock knew that rolling his eyes made him less threatening. He reduced the pressure on the man but didn’t release him. “You don’t look stupid enough to be afraid of someone in a £5,000 suit.”

“Well, it was a very nice suit. Very terrifying,” the man answered, nodding wisely.

Sherlock realized this man wasn’t the least bit afraid. Not afraid that he wouldn’t be heard if he called out, drowned out by the music. It was as if he knew that, with one effortless move, he could reverse the situation and have Sherlock completely in his control. By the neck. Slammed against the bathroom wall.

“Why would he choose you? Of all the people in London?” Sherlock lowered his voice, a sneer designed to intimidate. To regain control.

“You really don’t know?” The man asked and then laughed. “I’m in your chemistry class.”

Sherlock tried to place him, coming up blank.

“I sit behind you.” The man shook his head at Sherlock’s obliviousness.

“Boring."

“Look. That posh arsehole told me to keep an eye on you. Gave me money and his phone number. Told me to text him when you got stupid.” A crooked grin slowly spread across his face. “If you’d be kind enough to put me down, I need to text him right now, actually.”

He’d recognize that sarcasm anywhere. Watson. John Watson.

The man struggled half-heartedly to break Sherlock’s hold, with just enough effort to relay that he wasn’t trying. Sherlock’s temper rose; he needed a new tactic.

He leaned close to this John Watson, his soft lips grazing John's ear. “I didn’t think a man like _you_ would follow me into a gay dance club. You’re too used to hiding your… inclinations.”

A sharp intake of breath. _I’ve hit a nerve_ , Sherlock thought and pulled back to watch John’s eyes. “Your military style haircut. The rigid way you hold yourself when you walk. It over-emphasizes how straight you wish to _appear_. You’re afraid to admit your sexuality. But the way you’re looking at me, John…”

In one fluid move, sweeping his foot and twisting his arm, John Watson took command. Sherlock’s back slammed into the metal wall. “Shut the fuck up,” Watson snarled. “Just shut up.”

“Or what?” Sherlock jeered weakly, Watson’s forearm forced against his throat. His other hand was curled into a fist at his side.

Without thought, Watson crushed his lips against Sherlock’s. To shut him up. To stop that ridiculous posh voice.

The touch of their lips—it was a shock not a kiss. Electric.

John released Sherlock’s neck, but grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him flat against the stall door. Their hands were on each other, pulling shirts out of trousers, touching heated skin. John slipped his hands down the back of Sherlock’s tight trousers, cupping the round arse. Sherlock moaned into John’s kisses, arching forward, imagining those fingers inside him.

Sherlock slid down until his knees hit the dirty floor. He pulled at John’s flies and tugged him through the opening in his pants. Wrapping his long delicate fingers around John’s shaft, he stroked twisting his wrist over the already wet crown. He flicked his tongue over the tip and then engulfed John with his hot wet mouth. Sherlock loved this, the way the head slid against the roof of his mouth, the weight of the cock against his tongue. Even more, he wanted John’s come in his mouth, to swallow him fully and savor every drop.

When his knees buckled in pleasure, John grabbed the metal door with both hands to hold himself steady. His hips thrust hard into the bobbing movement, ramming Sherlock’s head into the stall door. Sherlock winced in pain but didn't stop; Watson wouldn’t apologize. He looked down just as Sherlock looked up at him, smiling around the cock stuffed in his mouth.

He released John with a pop and grinned.

“No. No you don’t.” John ordered, dropping a hand and gripping Sherlock’s curls. He pushed his thick red cock against Sherlock’s lips, but Sherlock grabbed him instead.

“You’re gagging for me now, aren’t you? Are you pretending I’m some girl you just pulled? You know you’re not, so don’t lie.” Sherlock taunted John.

Sherlock was right. John’s balls ached, swollen with need for him. Sherlock held John’s hips, fingers digging in, leaving marks that would black and blue later. John pressed into the tight O of Sherlock’s mouth, fucking him quiet.

“I think _you’re_ the one who wants this. You want my come in your mouth? Or should I come on your face, mark you?”

The words hit Sherlock like electric current. God, he wanted John. Sherlock hummed around the shaft and sucked harder, his tongue exploring the slit. Knowing John was close to orgasm, he cupped John’s balls, massaging them. But John backed off, dragging out of Sherlock’s mouth.

“Pull your trousers down,” John told him. “Now.” He tugged on Sherlock’s hair again.

“You don’t get to boss me,” Sherlock snarled, but his thoughts screamed, _yes, yes, boss me, own me_.

“Yeah. Actually, I do.” John pulled him up with the handful of curls, until they were mouth to mouth. He tasted himself on Sherlock’s lips, the bitter and sweet traces of pre-come. “Or do I send that text now. You on your knees in a filthy bathroom, no better than a whore.”

Sherlock slammed his palms into John’s chest to drive him away, even as his cock demanded more. John claimed Sherlock’s mouth again, pulling him close, before twisting him around, pressing his chest against the stall door.

“I’m going to fuck you now, and you’re going to let me,” John whispered, his lips tracing Sherlock’s ear. “And maybe, just maybe, I won’t text your big brother and let him know what you do when he’s not looking.”

“Oh, God, yes. Fuck me. Please.” Sherlock writhed, looking for friction.

John reached in front of Sherlock and unbuttoned the waistband. He pulled the zipper down before yanking the trousers and silk boxers over that delicious arse.

“You with your fancy suit and expensive pants. Not so special now, are you.” John reached up under the cotton shirt’s tail, trailing his fingers down through the sweat on Sherlock’s back until they traced the crease in his ass.

Sherlock moaned as John teased his opening; he reached for his own cock, twitching and leaking, but John slapped his hand away. “No you don’t. _Maybe_ after I’m finished with you. _Maybe_.”

Sherlock nodded, understanding. He wanted John, and he ached from that want. John spit into his hand and his fingers teased, torturing Sherlock until they entered him. Just two for now. Sherlock ground against John’s hand, moaning at the feel of him.

“That’s right. You like this. But I’m thicker than those fingers.”

Sherlock laughed, his derision designed to hurt and to provoke John to move faster. Instead, John flattened Sherlock’s face harder against the metal door, wondering for a second if the ink from the phone numbers and offers of sexual favors would transfer to Sherlock’s creamy, pale skin.

“That’s right. Laugh, gorgeous. You won’t be laughing in a second.”

“Is that all it will take?” Sherlock jeered. “I’d have assumed you’d last longer than that.”

John slammed himself into Sherlock, felt the tight heat, like nothing he’d ever felt with a woman. He wrapped his right arm around Sherlock’s chest, stroking the smooth skin, finding the hard, pebbled nipple and scraped his nail against it. Sherlock tried to bear down, but John’s left hand held him in place.

“Okay?” John asked quietly, nipping at Sherlock’s shoulder, his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Sherlock swore, and John did, thrusting to the driving beat of the music until he felt himself tingling, his movements erratic.

He reached down to Sherlock’s cock, rubbing his fist over the slick crown and stroking in time to his rhythm. Sherlock gasped, moving with John, speaking nonsense, a jumble of sounds. _Yes, fuck me, harder, John, oh John, so close, so ready. Ohmygod_ …

Sherlock's come slicked John’s fist, pulsing onto the stall door. The silky warmth combined with the caress of Sherlock’s voice brought John to the edge. His hips stuttered, moving on their own.

“Come for me, John.” Sherlock’s growl was different, dark heat and sated. It washed over John, swirled him, tumbling him over the edge into orgasm. With a ragged cry, he called out Sherlock’s name.

John collapsed against Sherlock, both flushed and sweaty. He felt it soaking Sherlock’s shirt.

“I love you,” John whispered into Sherlock’s back, loud enough that he knew Sherlock heard it in the break of the music. “Thank you for doing this.”

John felt rather than heard the small chuckle from Sherlock. “Wait til you see what I have planned for next time.” Sherlock turned his head and kissed John, slowly, deeply, with a soft stroke of his tongue, the way John likes it. They melted into the kiss before they cleaned up, zippered up.

John kissed him one more time and said, “Let’s go home. I’ll run a bath, and we can clean up before bed.”

Sherlock nodded with a smile. That was always his favorite part of these nights; no matter how searingly hot their role-play, nothing was more sensual than sleeping wrapped up in his husband.


End file.
